TOO much information.

Have you ever been talking with someone when suddenly, out of nowhere, the conversation takes a horrible turn into words and subjects that you REALLY don't want to discuss? Where it's all you can do to keep yourself from sticking your fingers in your ears and screaming LA, LA, LA, LA to keep from having to listen to one more scandalous little detail of someone's very private life?

That happened to me yesterday. Really. Believe it or not, I have no desire to know if you choose to close all your windows and doors and clean your house in your underwear. I would have slept just fine without knowing that little bit of information, thank you very much.

Right after we got married, Josh and I moved out to BYU and were excited to meet all the fellow newlyweds in our apartment complex. While we were still unpacking, one couple came down to say hello. After five minutes of conversation, we knew that they had just gotten married the week before, AND that SHE was going in to see the doctor the following Wednesday to have a hymenectomy, so that they could um, er, not struggle in the, uh, consummation of their relationship.

Holy too much information, batman!!

(Can I just say, ain't nothing would have been consummated had my husband said something like that about me. TO COMPLETE STRANGERS!)

How about this one?

"How are you?"

"Oh, man. Not good. I was in the bathroom for four hours with diarrhea."

Great! Thanks for sharing!

Growing up, I worked at my father's pharmacy and on more than one occasion, saw customers come in, seeking free diagnosis from the resident pharmacist...

"Larry... I need you to take a look at this here rash..." said the little old woman as she pulled her shirt down to her belly button. Oh please, please, can you just spare me the torture of knowing that you sat in your bathtub for forty five minutes waiting for your enema to work, or that anything, anywhere on your body is leaking puss.

Please.

Since we're talking pharmacy stories, I certainly can't fail to mention the elderly gentlemen that would come in to acquire the pre-viagra cure to the, um, condition that requires viagra. Though, THEY were normally experts at NOT providing too much information.

"I need to speak to the druggist," they would say.

"He's on the phone right now. Is there something I can help you with?"

"NO! I just need to speak to the druggist!"

OH!!! You need THAT kind of medicine. The druggist will be right out.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm the one that sometimes says too much.

"When I was pregnant with the twins, I would throw up so frequently and with such intensity that I would pee myself. All the time."

What. You mean that isn't the kind of information you share with a bank teller? Huh.